The twists of feelings
by Katana Grey
Summary: Tanno Vik. I hate him for the way he is. Obnoxious. Smug. Holding his superiors cheap. I hate him for the way he carries out orders, as if deigning - and it's seems I'm the only one he obliges to. I hate him for each and every time he responds with a "Yes, sir" that brings a treacherous shudder down my spine. I hate his voice - His voice that I... love. And hate myself for loving.
1. I hate him

I hate him for the way he is. Obnoxious. Smug. Holding his superiors cheap. I hate him for the way he carries out orders, as if deigning - and it's seems I'm the only one he obliges to; to quote him: "_I'm a part of Havoc Squad - so if ya have any issues with me, fire 'em off to my commander"._

I hate him for the way he coddles with his explosives as if they're his lovers, caressing the missiles stocked up in the cargo.

I hate him for dabbling in some questionable dealings still - and I, being the commander, have to turn the blind eye to it.I hate the way he smirks - and brings me my "share", forcing credits into my hands.

I hate him for each and every time he responds with a _"Yes__, sir"_ that brings a treacherous shudder down my spine.

I hate his voice - his low, velveteen voice that drives me crazy. His voice that I... love. And _hate_ _myself_ for loving.


	2. Precious cargo

**Cargo**

It's funny how she has never even imagined that "rooted to one spot" could be no figure of speech, but an actual condition. Never before she felt like this - frozen in a doorway and unable to move, much less take a step, since all of her attention was fully absorbed by... him.

Or rather his hands, for that matter. His hands that oh so lovingly caressed the metallic surface of missiles - of the newest designs, a compact yet destruction packed explosive, literally just out of the test room, as per request of General Garza.

He was clearly enjoying the moment. It seemed that he wasn't even aware of his surroundings, so engrossed he was unpacking the crates, sorting out warheads and thinder flashes, stroking the cold metal and gently fingering slabs of most dangerous explosives, humming a tune under his breath. She didn't hear any actual words, but that quiet baritone of his... it entranced her, sending treacherous shudder up and down her spine.

He must've been happy. After all, explosives were what he adored so much.

She felt a hot, suffocating surge rising inside. His fingers caressed the Republic emblem on the metallic surface - the same emblem she had on her jacket. The very same... She closed her eyes unwittingly, grasping the visions that floated up before her mind's eye.

_...How his hands rested on her uniform. Touching her in the same way he touched the metal of those missiles. How he held her against his form, forceful yet gentle - as if she was a fragile vase stolen from Aldearaan palaces, or those ignition sets he cradled now. How his fingers tangled in her hair and ghosted upon her skin - in the same way they ghosted upon those explosive slabs - barely feelable, gentle, almost teasing... _

_And that whisper of his - so inaudible, indistinct, a low velveteen tone that seemed to resonate throughout her whole body, with a heatwave that rose all the way to her face, flooding her cheeks with color and making her treacherous heart beat faster._..

She gulped, her throat suddenly parched; she felt her cheeks flaming. It was so hot in here, despite the temperature aboard being very precise. Not to mention that it was kept even lower in cargo for safety purposes.

- Sir?.. - somebody's voice piped up just behind her shoulder.

_Damn it, Dorne. To hell with it all..._

She opened her eyes quickly, shrugging the daze off and turned her head to catch the medic's quizzical stare. Elara raised one eyebrow, measuring her up uncertainly:

- Are you quite all right, sir?

She nodded sharply, still feeling the heat on her face:

- Yes, everything is fine. I've just... got lost in thought, - the last words she threw over her shoulder as she hurried on the way to her cabin.

Still feeling the heat on her face. What a disgrace, this accursed, abhorrent... and yet so bloody alluring...

_Oh how I loathe him, those little smirks, this I-don't-give-a-damn attitude towards discipline, the... the way he drives me crazy and makes me lose my head like a stupid little girl - heavens only know what it takes to maintain any semblance of stoicism and crush, crush, crush out and strangle every desire to get lost in these obsessive thoughts... I loathe his passion for those bloody explosives, I loathe his usettling, hypnotizing voice that causes this bloody goosebumps... I loathe myself, I loathe my own feebleness, my horrid weakness, my shame and disgrace... I loathe myself for seeing this one dream most every bloody night, about that bloody cargo and those bloody crates full of bombs, and that bloody Weequay, with his bloody heinous attitude and his bloody maddening voice..._

_Hell's blazes, I loathe myself for even beginning to **envy** those explosives!.._

_That reminds me... how did I end up in the cargo again? Oh yeah, right... I wanted to inquire about list of equipment._

_Oh hell no, definitely** not this time.**_


	3. Medical Bay

**Medi****с****al Bay**

- Sir, are you really sure you're all right? - Elara Dorne, the Havoc Squad medic, pried out closely.

Since that one time, when she stumbled upon her commander in the cargo, she got very concerned... with said commander's off-colour look, so to say. Perhaps the latest Quesh mission turned out to be not that easy after all?

- What if it's Quesh after-effects? We did receive a vaccine, but I'm not sure if it's effective for your race...

- Dorne. Everything's fine, - the commander interrupted her anxious medic tiredly. She was lightly rocking back and forth in her seat, and the mirialane's gaze wandered from medical equipment to the germicides to the injections to the blond medic herself.

The blond rubbed the bridge of her nose, equally tired:

- To be frank, I can't grasp it why you persist like this. This is a grave matter! The infection is barely curable if goes anywhere over 50 percent - taking into consideration that I don't have all the equipment necessary - it's much to my regret that only frigate-class come equipped with such, and since our ship is clearly not...

Her heartfelt rant was cut off by the sound of the door opening. One slightly mussy Weequay dropped in, winced at the glaring halogen lamps, and asked in a hoarse voice:

- B-bantu's shit... erm... List'n here, Dorn... d'ya have anyth'ng to treat a bloody headache? Feels like rankors stoped all over it, three of 'em no less... Argh, damn that bar, I knew the whisky was fake! The real Correlian one, he says, yeah right, like I can't tell that gammorean piss from a good whisky...

Dorne, who by then has well found the medicine in question, given it to Vik and pursed her lips in stern disapproval:

- If I may bring to your attention that, while your leave was no doubt well-deserved, to spend it indulging in acute alcoholism is to put a great strain on your body. Even if we take into consideration the natural traits of your species...

Vik swallowed the drug and brushed the medic off:

- Yeah, got it... Thanks babe, you saved my life.

And with just that, the explosive specialist of the squad vanished, making Dorne choke on her unfinished lecture.

Elara snorted in pure indignation and turned to her commander:

- Well, this is most unbearable! Such outrageous disregard of discipline and regulations - it's just _unthinkable_! I don't even... Sir?

Mirialan heaved a sigh and relaxed her hands she unwittingly balled into tight fists. Not giving at her medic a glance, but rather boring through the opposite wall, she asked grimly:

- Say, Dorne... have you ever felt you were going _round the bend_?


	4. Cantina Talk

**Cantina Talk**

- No, sir, I still firmly believe that it's not a good idea! After all, in our...

- ... In _our_ case, the rest is all well and deserved, sergeant. After all, we're officially on our leave at the moment. So I want to enjoy in to the fullest, now that I can. I suggest you follow the example - as great a soldier and a medic as you may be, even you should relax from time to time. Like I was saying - you aren't beating me, so you can as well join me. The choice is yours to take.

- But sir... - ever so lightly flushed blonde were at loss for words, and so she just followed her commander, only allowing herself sighs of quiet disapproval.

The two of them looked quite colourful: one dark-haired, tanned woman with her face tattooed in black, and a blond one hard at hand, a look of objection on her fair face. The brunette was - by some stretch - dressed in private: boots, camo pants, a jacket with Republic emblems on it and one quite heavy blaster on her hip. The blond one looked far more civil in that regard, if only because of her blaster being smaller.

They were headed to the Correlian Sector, the most diverse place entertainment-wise - namely, infamously known for a plethora of canteens, saloons, bars, pubs and drums unnumbered.

***

- But sir...

- I said we are on a leave. And I happen to have a name you can as well use; after all, we're drinking together and all...

Dorne fidgeted in her seat, pursed her lips, heaved a sigh... and stuttered:

- I... I really _can't_ sir, I really...

Brunette waved her away with annoyance:

- Yeah, I got you. Hey barkeep, reorder the last one!

Two cocktail glasses slid down the counter. Dorne shook her head, but took a small sip anyway.

Brunette drew her drink in moody silence, tapping on the counter. Then as she was watching her companion, a sudden ironic smile flashed on her face:

- Sorry about that. I knew you'd have no choice but to come along, since your commander runs off you don't know where... Well... how do I say this... I just want to take my mind off things or something.

Blond shook her head again and fingered her glass:

- Sir, I really... I mean, it's not like I can leave you be, not in the state you are...

Brunette shrugged it off:

- I told you to forget it, I just picked the wrong phrase!

- Excuse me, but saying "going round the bend" doesn't seem like a_ simple tongue slip_, now does it?.. Sir, I really am worried about you. You don't look like your usual self these days, and...

Mirialane scoffed and went even bleaker:

- Nevermind, it... it doesn't matter. I'll get over it. As long as it doesn't interfere with our missions...

Dorne drew forward, fretting even more, scrutinizing the face of her commander.

- Quite the opposite, sir, it matters a lot. It matters to me, at the very least; I want to understand what's going on with you, and how can I help...

The darkhead let out a grim smirk:

- If only... you can't do a thing about it, Elara.

- But why?

- Because... it's about my personal... curse is what I call it. Believe me, you want _nothing_ of it, so don't even ask. Heavens forbid you ever come to face anything of the sort.

The blond one furrowed her brow:

- Sir?..

But the brunette went on, clearly lost in her own musings - and quite possibly the growing intoxication:

- ... because you feel yourself losing your head, going mad... and it's simply because... each and every time you hear that _bloody voice_ that... - she cut herself off and shook her head, - Ugh, nevermind. I... I guess I had too much. Yeah, that's it. We better go back to the ship, I can already feel the room swaying...

The street met them with cool air and a slight tinge of metal - air conditioners in the middle sector went off from time to time. Saloons blinked their garish lights, and scarce passer-bys went around them. Not many people stayed on the sector streets for long, usually hiding either in the cosy canteen gloom, or their own apartment...

Dorne looked around sightly tense, following her commander closely - who seemed to strode on quite steady, hands hid in her pockets.

Everything was going on fine and well. Sergeant almost relaxed once she caught a glimpse of taxi lights in a nearby distance.

But then, as per sod's law...

- Look at 'em ladies, guys!.. And just what doctor's ordered! Girls, ain't no rushing now, harhar, your next stop is _here_...

It was some band that emerged from a dark side street, full of shady characters and led by even more shady zabrack.

Elara tensed at once:

- You're making a grave mistake if...

But a rude guffaw cut her off:

- Guys, the girl doesn't know _who_ she's dealin' wit'! I'm not taking that crap, toots, you gotta play nice wit' me...

Brunette that was observing the unexpected obstacle quietly up till now, smirked:

- Right _you are,_ gentlemen. I'll give you lessay... about half a minute to clear off. Otherwise, your actions will be seen as an attack against military official, and seeing that I'm not in a good mood... well, all right, I'll send you to the Security sector - your remains, actually. If there are any, that is...

She cracked her knuckles.

Zabrack spit out:

- Oh hell, luck's our bitch guys - those girls are military!.. All the better, always wanted to screw an army chick...

The brunette bared her teeth:

- You're so going to barbarize the floor now, honey... with your face.

Dorne heaved a tired sigh and reached for her blaster. The day definitely turned out not to be a good one.

***

Jorgan's disapproving stare was the first thing they met once they were back on the ship. Cathar clearly sniffed the alcohol as per entrance, and was even more clearly not happy about it.

- Sir, General called while you were on your leave. It wasn't urgent, but you were taking a long time and your comlink was dead...

She sighed. Sure it was dead, that with being crushed under the boot of one of those... imbeciles, that decided to... cope a feel of "army chicks". Yeah, some feel they _coped_. It went without saying that they made a nice pile on the floor in five minutes flat. Shame that the comlink had to be repaired - or rather, replaced altogether.

Commander smirked, ruffling her hair absent-mindedly:

- There was a slight delay as it were. Took us a little longer in a сantina here, then we brought to a reason some smart civilians there... Fine, I'll look into the General's message. I suppose we're leaving tomorrow...

Hearing the most interesting bit he wanted to hear, one Weequay turned up in the doorway behind her:

- Bought some civilians_ to a reason_, eh, boss? Ohhh, wish_ I_ was there to see... - he smirked, teeth glaring.

_Oh heavens. Oh, heavens, no... him... curse it..._

She was actually feeling a hot surge shooting up her spine, all the way up... All of a sudden it took _a lot more_ to even stand upright - even more so with the intoxication washing over her brain.

It came as a pure horror to realize she was_ losing control._ _Oh no. Oh sweet heavens no-no-no..._

She hid her face under a cover of rubbing her forehead - that foul hot wave was already in her face, and she felt her cheeks burn. She groaned inwardly - just what kind of bad karma she even had to bring_ this_ upon herself?!..

Trying to recover, she bit her lower lip, wishing the pain to drown out that disgusting feeling of being betrayed by your own body, control slipping away with each ticking second...

- Captain?..

Brunette caught her medic's stunned stare. It seemed that realization dawned on her at last.

_Hell's blazes, _**_she knows_**_. No wonder though, she's very perceptive by nature, and her line of work demands it anyway, and I even... ugh... to hell with it all. To bloody hell it is. Dorne... it's not likely she'd tell a living soul. I hope so._

One dark smirk, one unspoken "don't ask", and commander turned around sharply, well on her way to the cabin:

- I guess the headache has caught up with me after all. I'm done, today was too much for me. Get ready to set off tomorrow, I think our little vacation is over.


	5. He Knows

**He Knows**

He was at it _again._

She felt his stare on her skin. That particular_ weird_ stare. And each and every time she turned to meet it - she saw his smirk. A particularly... _weird one_, that smirk. Something was tossing and turning inside her under that stare and that smirk, something ached... It was that nasty foreboding of an ambush up ahead - you only guess it's somewhere out there, but have no idea _where_, not until you run straight into your enemy... And that nasty, sick feeling was growing stronger and stronger still.

She winced and went through inventory lists that Elara and Arik gave her. _Medical bay... all in order, Dorne manages it well - we do need new medical supplies, but it can wait. Ammunition... all in order here as well, Jorgan took care of it. As for the ship itself... everything is fine and sound. Now for the repair reports sent by the droid..._

_Oh, yes. And the list of missiles in the cargo. Ugh, punctuality is definitely not one of Vik's points - he couldn't even bring himself to fill out the brief summary... that guy._

She went to the cargo, looking through the computation on her datapad._ Let's see... There should be new warheads - it took too many of them to wipe out that enemy base during the last mission... now, there's the list..._

As she was checking the ammunition they had, putting ticks in the list at hand, a voice ringed right behind her:

- Looking for something, boss?

Startled, she took a step back by instinct - and her back bumped straight into a hard breastplate of the grinning Weequay.

Turning around sharply on her heels, she cursed herself inwardly for not paying attention to her surroundings. Stepping away from him, she gave a dry reply:

- Yes, _I am_. In fact, I'm currently going through the list of equipment from the latest ammunition supply, seeing that _**someone**_, - she put an emphasis on that word, - Didn't even send me any report.

Vik crossed arms on his chest and smirked:

- Sorry 'bout that, I've been busy. Had to repack the explosives - the imbeciles that did it first time around didn't even think about temperature shifts and shipping issues, and so I had to take precautions as it were...

She winced, massaging her temple. It barely helped to distract herself and concentrate.

Each and every time Vik sprouted his tales about things he's been doing and how selfless he was in the process of ensuring everyone's safety, his voice - his bloody voice that drove her mad... made her crazy... his _bloody voice_ took on a deeper and even more velveteen quality. None of which helped her to comprehend any of the information he was conveying. Most of the time she was just entranced by his voice alone.

_Arrrgh, to hell with it all!_ She almost roared at her own feebleness, and yet...

- ... so like I was saying, _si-ir_, I had no way of sending that report to ya, - Vik finished with a grin.

She pursed her lips, trying to keep the poker face on. There was that nasty foreboding again. Oh heavens why, _why_ in the wide space this smirk looks _so weird_?

- Right, forget it. You couldn't sent a written report, fine, but you're going to report anyway. You go on, I will check it with the data I have. The sooner we start the better, the mission won't wait, - she heaved a sigh and flicked a page.

Vik chuckled and went to crates:

- As you wish, _si-ir._

- ... That way, the current supply consists of 40 ST-54 class warheads, 80 VTT-25 missles, about ten propellants with composite VBB-4 class ignition sets... see for yourself if you'd like...

It's been full fifteen minutes that Vik was spieling on and about the cargo. She had to hand it to him - everything was as per the list; the sly Weequay even managed to sneak some extra ammunition aboard but not spend a credit over the budget. She peeked into one of the crates Vik was showing her, glanced at the matte surface of missiles inside and nodded - they were all set and fully equipped.

- Speaking of which, boss... How about I make one ve-ery _interesting_ proposal?

_Wh-what was that? What was he talking about?_ She blinked, quite taken aback, and tried to pick the thread of their conversation again.

- Thing is, just yesterday I happened to come across one very _nice deal_...

He was almost _purring._ As he bent down, a couple of braids hung over his shoulder and touched her arm. She shuddered, feverishly trying to keep her cool._ Ohhh, hell, now it's going from bad to worse!_ She can't simply step away, not unless she wants him to know..._ He's anything but an idiot, oh no he's _**_not_**_..._

_Oh sweet heavens, what did I even do..._

- ... like I was saying, I've got it all under control, so if...

She shoot one hand up to cut him off, with an acute feeling that if he goes on any longer - then she'd lose not only the conversation thread but her head as well, and the Special Forces "Havoc Squad" Commander would turn into a girly mush of hormonal intoxication.

_Just go and bloody die in bloody hell, Vik, you little bloody _**_bastard_**_..._

- To the point, Vik. What do you want?

He smirked and sang:

- A couple of hours, boss. I just need a couple of hours.

She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes, bitterly wondering just when she became such a hideously spineless amoeba.

- Fine. You've got two hours and not a minute _more_. If you're running late, then we're setting off without you. I'll leave you to explain the matter before General yourself.

Vik bared his teeth in a wide grin and saluted:

- Sir, yes sir!

She was already on her way to the cockpit when she caught his smirk. It was that one _weird_ smirk again. It never left his face; and when their eyes met, that smirk of his grew even _wider,_ if only by a hair width...

A freezing chill tore through her spine. Every instinct screamed. Heavens know what reflex it took to keep the impassive poker face on.

That enemy ambush. She walked _right into it_.

_Oh no. __Oh bloody hell _**_no_**_._

_He... _**_knows_**_..._


	6. Scent

**Scent**

She strode into her cabin barely suppressing the fury.

That... bloody... that bloody, blasted Weequay has finally had her on edge and pushed well over it!

And it's when she was anything but biased; nooo, she was trying hard to keep people of her squad on good terms - camaraderie is a key element of success and all that...

But this one... blasted... bastard just seemed to make it his _life's goal_to get on her nerves! Worst thing is - she never did anything to give him the motive! She was being very tolerant... yeah... tolerant is right...

_Damn... damn this shit..._

She slid down on the floor, boring a wretched stare into the ceiling. Yeah, right, she never gave him any motive... This bloody Weequay must've known. He_ knew _the way his voice made her feel; and turned out that he enjoyed toying with her, in his little sadistic way, until she could barely keep the fury under control. The fury mixed with venom mixed with rage... mixed with that one pinching delight and the desire to get lost in the sound of that bloody, blasted voice...

_Ohhh, to hell with it all..._

She let out a quiet, strained groan and hid her face in her hands.

_Heavens know how much longer I'll be able to bear it. And keep myself from shooting... something off him... that ugly leathery head preferably... And keep myself in check too, unless I want to embarrass myself in front of the whole squad as well. It's enough that Dorne knows - and not only that, she _**_sympathizes_**_... But the worst thing of all - is that _**_he_**_ knows. I've no idea about hows and whys, but he knows. By Force, I wish I knew how he found out!.. What a shame, what a freaking shame and disgrace - to feel this sick hot surge, this bloody feeling of... why, the blasted butterflies fluttering inside, the chocking and the mind wiped clear and all... Aaarrrgh!_

She felt a bit better hitting the wall with her head a few times. Finally she stood up and went over to her bed, discarding clothes on the way there; there was really no strength left in her to keep any semblance of order in the room. Dropping her body on the blankets, she breathed out, let herself a few quiet moments before reaching out for the datapad: it's about time Garza send the intelligence necessary for the upcoming mission.

_Hmmm... so there's the planet's data, contact list... fine, now the equipment... The objective - not that I don't know it... Aha, there's also reference data and the link to the Galactic military encyclopedia... _

With a quiet "hm" she pressed on the screen.

_Oh, wow... it's true that you get more access the higher you climb!.. Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, Quesh, and even... Mirial!_

Propping her head with one hand, she made herself comfortable and engrossed in the reading.

_Hmmm..._ "Mirialans - a relatively reserved race of Near-Humans, native to Mirial. Due to frigid climate of the planet..." - _some nice database they have, I wonder who's put all this info together? They've also got cathars... mirialans I've seen already... humans, duh... weequays... zabracks..._

She stopped scrolling the list down and went a few lines up.

_Weequays?.. Bantha's shit, he's sneaked in here as well!.. On the other hand... I wonder what the database has on them. I remember Garza telling me a thing or to in the quick, and I didn't have the time to go through the briefing - all the more reason to read it then!_

She tapped the screen. It blinked a few times, displaying the article.

"Weequays - a race of humanoids who came from the Outer Rim planet of Sriluur, near Hutt Space. Their home is a harsh desert planet, leading to the species' tanned skin tone and rough, sandy, wrinkled skin. Their eyes are dark and slightly recessed into their skull.

Weequays has the ability to communicate with members of their own clan through smell by exuding complex pheromones. This pheromonal language can not be understood by any other species, or even by Weequays of another clan. Only Jedi senses can even tell that two Weequay were communicating. Since each Weequay's pheromones are unique, Weequay has no need for a name within their clan. As a result, speech is only a secondary form of communication for Weequay, and they seldom speak a whole sentence, resulting in Humans mistakenly believing the species to be unintelligent.

Only Weequay who has to live among other clans, or among non-Weequay, take a personal name. Even then, some are simply referred to as "Weequay"."

_Hmmm, I see, now that's interesting... so that's why he came from Nar Shaddaa, neighbour planet and all... Nonverbal communication - not that's unusual. I wonder how useful this trait is to Vik, seeing that he didn't live among his kind? Scents, though... no, wait - if the range is wide enough, he might smell even the electricity. Maybe that's what helps him disarm bombs, among other things... take pheromones..._

She felt her fingers freeze.

Pheromones.

_p-h-e-r-o-m-o-n-e-s_

Bantha's shiiit...

With a loud groan she hit the datapad screen with her forehead and burrowed her way into blankets.

_Oh bloody hell, wish the floor opened up underneath and let me drop into the dead space!.. Oh heavens, the howling shame... what a disgrace, how... how am I even supposed to look him in the eye now?! Ohhh, somebody please murder me, this very damn second while you're at it..._

She closed her eyes shut and pressed her icy cold fingers against flaming cheeks, cursing inwardly, with horror and sudden apathy realizing she could do not a thing about it. There was no way she could control her body that well as to mask this kind of reaction - only maybe those blasted Jedi could do that. She was no Jedi. And that meant...

Damn, no bloody wonder he was grinning like _that_ all the time. This bastard, this bloody bastard, sarlacc devour him, he merely _**sniffed her out.**_


	7. Sparring

**Sparring**

Strike, another strike...

She loved practice drills like these. When you didn't have to think - only react and hit, hit and hit again. Venting anger, fury, rage... weakness...

The woman pursed her lips and executed a succession of quick blows, then stroke the dummy with a sharp blow in the spleen and turned round, wiping the sweat off her brow. And froze right there and then.

Leaning on the doorway of their small practice room, with his arms crossed as per usual, was Vik himself. He was watching her - with that very same unnerving smirk on his face.

She felt the rage that almost passed by return and make a camp.

- You need anything? - she inquired with one brow raised.

Vik flashed her a grin:

- Not at all boss. I was just, ehem, admiring the lever of your skill. Sir.

She almost felt the veiled mockery creep on her skin, and clenched her fist tight, feeling nails dig in.

- Oh, you don't say? I'm _flattered_. Though your skill isn't much lower I'm sure.

Now it was Weequay's turn to raise an eyebrow:

- Mmhhm, _si-ir_, was that an _invitation_?..

A moment's shock washed over her, as she stood not quite believing her ears.

_Oh yes, ohhh yes-yes-yes, oh Great Force or whatever there is thank you, for giving me this one chance_ - ohhh, she was sooo going to use it!

She felt her mouth widen in a grin:

- You could take it as such.

Weequay blinked just once, but then took a hold of himself and returned the grin right back:

- I'm on my way, _si-ir_...

_Hell _**_yes_**_._ She felt a sheer excitement, a dark kind of excitement for finally getting what she wanted - a chance to beat this bastard's face, and if she makes a bloody pulp of it all the better... She smirked in anticipation, watching closely as the Weequay stepped on the mattresses, and beckoned him closer. _Oh yes, come here you bloody son of a rancor, it will be my pleasure to pay you back - for every smirk, every taunt, every second you've been exploiting my weakness... I'm so gonna pay it all back a _**_hundredfold_**_, just you wait, I'll have your scalp for everything you've done to me..._

Vik cracked his knuckles, bared his teeth in a sneer and slid forward. She parred, dodged, hit his unguarded side - met a block, then the Weequay attacked and threw her aside. Block, attack, sweep, hack - with a chilling rage came the feeling of his smirk drilling into the back of her head... the bastard wrung her arm in a tight hack, and his mocking voice flown right into her ear:

- Is this all you've got, _si-ir?.._

The rage had risen. This... this bloody bastard had the nerve to use that one advantage he had!.. _That's it, you ain't leaving this room alive, you bloody Weequay, I will make you choke on your own words..._

She slumped in his hands - just enough to give the opponent the illusion of a victory. Clearly satisfied, the Weequay decided to seal the win by teasingly skimming a stray hand over her body, as if by a blind chance... With a dark grin she bent over, threw his hands off and attacked - and like a furious lightning she came crushing down, pushing her body to the limits. If anything, she could _expertly_ use the minute advantages her race had to offer...

No doubt they were an odd pair in a potential observer's eyes. One tall, square-built Weequay and one seemingly fragile Mirialan. But despite the height and weight difference, the girl had an upper hand thanks to her agility, dodging and avoiding the Weequay's attacks. It was a fair fight at first - but as it went on, the girl seemed to get lost in the heat completely. The pace became much faster, and her blows so much more deadly. Weequay wasn't flat-out losing per se, but he was obviously taken aback by the aggression - and that, in the end, caused him to lose the lead.

It was too late by then.

Strike, block, strike... Her clenched fist flew straight into his face, and she felt a sadistic pleasure to feel something break under her knuckles. One more strike... uh, block this, then a fake strike... hit him in the ribs, then the knee to... a shame he dodged and got his groin covered... now duck his fist, slide aside, another strike and a sweep...

_Got you!_

Weequay was too slow to react when the flood met him face first. She was already above her opponent, wringing his arm painfully.

- You're dead meat... - she drawled into his ear.

Utter joy came flooding as she heard his muffled curses. She waited a few patient second to confirm his defeat, and let go, massaging her bruised knuckles. Weequay sat up, hissing in pain and wiping the blood off his face - oh, so that crack wasn't her imagination...

_Ahhh, the joy, pure ecstasy.._. A weightlessness settles upon her heart, as if a heavy burden was taken off it._ Ohhh, yes... enjoy all you want boy, but it's my triumph today..._

Vik measured her up thoughtfully and spoke in a hoarse voice:

- My compliments are in order, boss. I must admit I didn't expect it, but you managed to catch me off guard.

She bared her teeth in a wide grin:

- Havoc Squad accepts only the best soldiers. Its only natural that the commander will be the _best_ among the best, - she turned around to go, but in the doorway glanced back, - Oh yeah, sorry about your nose. I guess... I've got a little _carried away._

There were no words to describe _the look_ on the Weequay's face. He wiped it right away - but she had just enough seconds to witness the intoxicating mixture of surprise, shock, admiration and heavens know what else.

She will have to cherish the memory of it for the rest of her life. Yeah, most definitely.

Dorne, that she met in the corridor, had all but fell down stumbling:

- Sir?!.. Did anything happen, sir?

She beamed a happy grin:

- Oh, not at all. Everything is... great. Just... _great._


	8. Worth a Shot

**Worth a shot.**

..The air in the cargo hold was clear and crisp; a slight metallic smell wafted through, mixed with a tinge of chemicals of the latest "present" from Garza.  
The halogen half-light barely helped to make out the crates filled with ammo, explosives, a new supply of improved cryogrenades... She trailed her fingers along the metal surface as she went on - but to where?.. She felt suspended in the air, her thoughts floating in all directions at once, and she didn't feel like catching them. Rather... she was waiting for something to happen - but couldn't quite remember what _exactly_...  
A noise so faint it might as well be her imagination caught her attention and sent shivers of anticipation down her back. She followed the noise, picking her way in the labyrinth of crates, and then...  
- Took an interest in explosives,_ si-ir?_..  
That gruff velvet-lined voice washed over her from behind, ever so lightly mocking. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot wave flood her, the heat dripping from her fingertips, coming in streams dow her hips and rising all the way to her flaming face.  
There was a soft chuckle followed by a warm puff of breath just above her ear:  
- Well, in that case... I suggest you get off with... ah, yes, thermal grenades. You do know how they work, hmm? You pull the pin out, then throw it... and_ then_...  
She felt his hands ghost over her shoulders and bit her lip not to gasp.  
- ... The grenade _blows up_, and every single bastard within the burst width goes straight to hell in a little handbasket...  
Her hair stood on end under his hot breath; a few of his ritual braids slithered over her shoulder like silk. His fingers danced on her neck,, shoulders and back, all but touching and yet leaving scorching marks on her skin. It made her shiver violently, and she felt her body go limp and melting...

**Aaarghhh!**  
She shoot up on her bed, wide awake and sober - just when she was about to give in and..._ Ooohhh the Great Force, what did I even do to deserve this!.._

With a strained groan she buried her face in the pillow. As seconds ticked by, her heartbeat steadied itself, it took less effort to breath, and the foul hot wave dissipated...

She turned over on her back and glared at the ceiling.

_**Be. Damned. That. Bloody. Bastard. Tanno Vik**_**.**

His smirking face was before her eyes as if he was right there himself. The last shreds of the nightmare dissolved into the gloom of her cabin - she refused to call that dream anything but a _nightmare._ There was not a thing more terrifying than to lose control - to follow the lead without any say in the matter, all the worse if you couldn't give a sliver of trust to the person leading on...

_That Tanno Vik... ugh._..

Her heavy stare fell on the clock and she cursed silently. It was 3 AM Galactic Standart time, all of her crew save for droids must be sound asleep - even that blasted Weequay is probably snoozing off... on his beloved crates of explosives...

The thought cheered her up somewhat and she went on to elaborate, drawing ridiculous caricatures of sleeping Vik in her head.

In the end though, he did seem to spend all of his time glued to the ammo in the cargo hold... must be a lost case of deep fixation or something.

She let out a sigh and decided to drop by the camboose, since sleep brought her at risk of meeting with some unwanted visions as it were.

She peeked in the corridor with caution - just in case anything happens... _mmm, yeah.._.

The door to the crew quarters was closed; medical bay was closed up as well - and no big wonder, Dorne guarded it like her own honour. The conference room was most likely occupied by a sleepless Forex... She treaded on the plastic floor to the camboose with a quiet sigh.

The camboose met her with dim lamplight; the brightness settings of light fixtures adjusted automatically, as per the time of day. She rubbed the fatigue off her face and reached out for coffee.

- Hey, boss, - an ironic voice grumbled behind her. It took some great effort not to jump in surprise; she released her grip on the coffee tin and put it on the counter with care, then pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the cabinet. _No rest for the wicked..._ Why, oh why would the world treat her so?..  
- Good night to you too, I guess, - she spoke out tiredly, and went on to make herself the drink; coffee she wanted, and coffee she _will_ _get_. In spite of any obnoxious bastards present.  
- Hmmm... I say, you drop by here most _every_ night... sir, - the Weequay mused, taking sips from his own mug.  
- You're the one to _talk_, - she turned around and crossed her arms over her chest.  
Weequay flashed her a grin, rocking on his chair back and forth:  
- I'm just doing my job..._ si-ir._ Anyway, my babes feel so cold and lonely sometimes... locked up in the hold, all alone...  
He smirked and looked defiantly at her. With disgust she realised that he dropped to that tone of voice again, the ona that made her... _Ohhh damn you, you son of a..._  
Weequay looked her up and down. She felt herself broil with anger and couldn't do a thing about it; just half an hour ago she, rancor eat the bloody weequay scum, was having erotic dream about the very sleazebag... who happened to have the sexiest voice in the whole Galaxy...

_Bantha's shit._ It's true what they say - first you have to accept your... issues... _Issues, right._ The issue be damned - see him sit and grin, all but winking suggestively..._ Drop off the chair, you bloody bastard..._

She knew she was driving herself in a corner. Again.

- So tell me straight, Vik. What do you _want_?

The question came as a surprise even to her. Shaky silence hung in the camboose, soon broken by Weequay's chuckle:

- Weeell... there's a lot of things that I want. Say, I wanna fire some baby twice as big as the one I had on Balmorra...

She slapped her hand flat on the table to cut him off, and leaned forward with and angry glow in her eyes:

- Don't play dumb, Vik, you know _full well_ what I'm talking about! I'm talking about the... the way you always get on my nerves! It... it gets in the way of our mission, and...

It was his turn to cut her off - he leaned forward as well, a crooked grin on his face and looking her straight in the eye:

- Well... lessay... I_ like_ doing this_. Si-ir_.

She felt fury engulf her.

_This... this bastard had blatantly confessed that he enjoyed embarrassing his commander? Merely because he happened to find it amusing?! Arrrghhhhh..._

Weequay took the nerve to stare right in the furious face of his commander with a smug smirk.  
- You... why you...  
His grin grew wider, and he drawled with one brow raised:  
- I'm _what_, hmm,_ si-ir_?  
She clenched her teeth to keep the swearing in.

_Damn the day Garza had sent the bastard to me, damn the very hour my blasted brain took the fancy to find the noise produced by his speech organ even remotely attractive, damn the..._

Still smirking, Weequay swiftly closed the distance between them, and...

And she froze wide eyed, while her thoughts made a haphazard retreat and left her head perfectly hollow to cave in. The world closed around one tiny spot, concentrated in the sensation of the fire burning her lips and the fingers lightly skimming upon her neck, and... and...

... And then some or the other defense mechanism switched on the alarms. In a surprisingly sober mind she came to realize several facts: that she was currently stated in the camboose of her bloody ship, that it was around three o'clock in the bloody morning, and at this very place and time the bloody smug amoral scum called Tanno Vik was shamelessly _**kissing her**_.

_Great Force be damned, I'm killing the bastard!_

She tensed and pushed the Weequay away sharply, and gave him a very hard and painful right straight on the jaw. The blow was heartfelt; it caught him off guard and threw him well off the chair. He fell down swearing.

She closed her eyes basking in the sweet vengeance. The dark suffocating fury was howling inside still, making her hands shake ever so lightly.

_How. Dared. He. The nerve he had to put his commander on the same level with... with some canteena whore?! The bloody bastard.._.

Bending down to the Weequay, she spoke out, each word stressed with satisfaction and venom:  
- I will have you clean the latrine with your _bare hands_. With extra duty as well... multiple, in fact. And if you _ever_ get it in your head to try something like this again, then I_ swear_ I'm blowing your brains out there and then. With my most favorite heavy blaster. And believe me - I'm gonna do it _free of charges_. Not even Garza will convict me. You _got_ that?

She slit her eyes, glaring down at the Weequay.

- Sir, yes, sir, - the smirk never left his face, even as he rubbed the blooming bruise.

She pursed her lips and headed back to her cabin. Just as she was about to exit, Vik's muffled voice caught her ear:

- ... worth a shot, huh...

She turned around sharply that very instant and all but hissed in rage:  
- Most. Positively. **NOT**!


	9. From a certain point of view

And the next one. Here comes the fun, woohoo. And catboy. I mean, Arik. Who... can't stand that Weequay and... what he is doing. oh, joy. oh, my head. X) Really, I'm in Arikxtrooper, but this one OTP about Vik and his voice... just eats my brain. _whatever, such... thing you can never see in game, 'cose Vik is not romance-able. ha-ha-ha. =_= tell that to my imagination - it_**_ l-o-v-e-s_**_ UST and love-hate and etc. not in all - but in this specific case... oh, joy.. X))_)

**From a certain point of view**

He was... a little _displeased_.

That what he'd say; but the sober fact was that the situation at hand paralyzed Arik Jorgan with madness.

Ever since the so-called "demolitions expert" was added as a part of the squad, the subordination and discipline alike went to pieces.

Both himself and the squad medic were honest and loyal soldiers - as judgmental he was towards Dorne at first, solely because she defected from the Empire, in due time he came to accept and appreciate her. Little could be said about the droid, about the only thing of note being his raging enthusiasm. Even that Gand's flowery speech was tolerable, although the mind did boggle trying to get to the point - but even that was no problem.

The problem laid in one insolent, presumptuous savage of a Weequay. The one that seemed to make it his life's goal to drive their commander completely _mad_.

The goal he seemed to be achieving, _damn that scum_.

Arik did have one suspicion, but... the very thought was _beyond_ absurd. On the other hand, if - in a million-to-one chance kind of hypothetical assumption -_ if_ we just suppose that this is really the case, absurd and crazy as it might be...

Oh hell, then it _all_ made sense.

It made sense why their commander was so tense and high-strung. It made sense why Weequay's grin drove him up the wall. It made sense why the commander didn't... _oh, shit_.

He cursed and rubbed his temple; these kind of thoughts made his head ache.

But still... assuming this absurd and hypothetical idea was_ true._.. Gods forbid to even_ imagine_ what chaos might ensue. All the worse if he... wait a minute...

The Cathar threaded silently towards the main deck, the corridor that led to the cargo hold perfectly in his line of sight.

No less perfectly in his line of sight were both the commander - headed for the bridge no doubt - and Vik, currently engaging her in some kind of small talk. Just a couple of thrown words, her sharp reply, his smirk and some response... Quietly disturbed, Cathar took note of every little sign he didn't see - or didn't _dared_ to see: that Weequay's knowing smirk, commander's subtly defensive stance, the way she seemed to retreat as if scared, or rather...

Arik shook the nasty thought out of his head.

Then he saw Vik lean down and say something that made commander shudder and look away, then she pursed her lips and shot back - the only words he heard were: "... we don't have time for that!.." - to which Vik chuckled.

Commander turned around and all but ran to the bridge, almost biting her lips in rage - _or?_..

_Oh, Great Mother._ He felt his guts knot in chilling suspicion that his assumptions might be true, but in the Force - _**HOW**_**?**..

Commander darted past the arms room, hissing curses under her breath. He took a deep breath out of reflex - that usually helped to figure out the other person's emotions...

He barely held back the curse.

_I'll murder the bastard. _**_Murder him_**.

***  
- Can I have a word with you?

Weequay looke the Cathar up and down quizzically, and smirked:

- I never knew I was your type... but hey, why the hell not.

Jorgan's eye twitched.

He wasn't for beating around the bush; taking one step forward, Cathar spoke out in a dryly, holding the anger back:

- Firstly, I have to say that your defiance violates discipline. Havoc Squad is among the best for a good reason - but your misbehavior threatens to _ruin_ the status! Moreover, the subordination and discipline are a must during missions and outside of them, and _even_ the likes of you should know this! So _why the hell_ are you trying to drive our commander mad?

Weequay grinned and made a helpless gesture. He didn't look ashamed at all.

- Hey, no beef. I'm not doing a thing, boss is just... hmmm... if that's how _she is_, that's none of my business.

His grin took on a suggestive curve.

Cathar felt his jaws clench:

- Cut the crap, - he hissed, grabbing the Weequay by the collar, - You... you _know_ what's going on with her. What pisses me off is that you have the nerve to _use_ it - and the whole squad goes to hell! I don't know what you're playing at, but let me assure you - should you _ever_...

Weequay raised one eyebrow and carefully removed Cathar's claws from his person:

- Heeey, don't get all wound up. Rubs me the wrong way you know, - he gave a shrug, - In any case, I can promise you that I won't do a thing... that boss herself wouldn't _want me to_.

Cathar snarled and his smirk. It took everything to hold a grip on himself, itching to beat the bastard to a bloody pulp. Ohhh, the chance to hit him square in the smug grinning face, bones breaking and all, wipe the smirk off, the smirk that said oh so clearly - yeah, I know all the trumps I have on hand and I'm about to _deal them._..

- Uhhh... I guess I came at a bad time?..

Jorgan glanced back at the surprised voice, a chill trickling down his back. Yep, it was commander all right, a quizzical look aimed at... _damn_!

He released the Weequay who only gave a crooked sneer.

Commander looked at them both:

- Anyhow, I _really_ don't want to know what you were at, neither I want to get in your way. I just wanted to say that I'm leaving the ship to gather some intel, and since you both... are a _bit busy,_ well, I'm taking Dorne then. And, um... try not to kill each other. Yeah. That's all.

A heavy silence hung in the cargo hold when she left.

- Must be my imagination, catboy, - Weequay mused out loud, - But I think we've _been had_.

Jorgan clenched his teeth to keep the boiling rage inside:

- That's because you don't give a damn about discipline! And...

Weequay cut him off with an accusing jab of his finger:

- Well excuse me, but _who_ was it that grabbed me in interesting places for boss to see, hmm?

The hiss was all that Cathar could emit when words failed to convey his rage.

He punched a nearby crate just next to Weequay's head hard, and threatened:

- Know this - should you ever... _use_ the situation to your advantage, then I _swear_ - I will blast your head off with my best gun, the consequences be damned! And believe me, not even a _prison sentence_ would dampen the joy.

When the Cathar left, Vik winced at the indent on the crate and sighed:

- It's your luck, kitty, that I moved my delicate bombs away. Intuition never fails...


	10. Two can play this game

**Two can play this game**.

Since the very night when... that bloody bastard... dared to _violate_ her, the whole ship seemed to be on a tense kind of standby. Vik was sporting a black eye and the ever-present smirk; Jorgan had his brows knit and stare heavy all the time - but he kept silent; Juun seemed to meditate around the clock; Elara did raise an eyebrow at the sudden addition to Vik's face, then shot a worried glance at her commander, but said nothing. While the commander...

The commander was being moody, waiting for the Weequay to pull another nasty trick - she'd already got a clear view of his nasty personality, so it was really a matter of time to her. Only that this waiting began to get on her nerves - and that not to count the nightly self-study she picked up when she dug into reports and documents.

At least it was a fair enough alternative to sleeping. Dreaming, actually; however, her coffee was slowly but steadily running low, and she feared the day the stimulant would run out at all. That would not be a_ happy_ night.

And it definitely wasn't one, not when the clean bottom of the coffee can stared right back at her when she reached for another nightly dose. Bugger that... She pressed her forehead against the cabinet, going south just thinking about the hard fight with sleep she'd have to face.

- Some hard knocks I'm taking, - she grumbled after putting the empty can back.  
- Hard knocks from whom exactly, sir?

Commander turned around sharply and faced Dorne's disapproving stare. Medic had her arms crossed, and was visibly annoyed.  
- Good night to you, Dorne...

She'd tried to nonchalantly steal past, but the medic was savvy enough to catch her mid-way.

- Can't wish you the _same_, sir. Would you please be so kind to explain me, your medic, the_ reason_ you're exhausting your body by keeping awake for several night straight? I've also noticed our coffee supply to diminish at an alarming rate, and am not happy about it - it's too much a strain to the...  
- Dorne, - her voice came out too tired, - I just... I _can't_ sleep.

The blond raised one eyebrow with an ironic stare:

- You don't mean you suffer from insomnia, are you? I don't think that the case. So what is it really?

Commander rubbed her eyes, estimating her chances to avoid the talk altogether. With her medic being this persistent - the crew's health and well-being are top priority and all that crap - the immediate future looked bleak at best. Whatever even possessed Dorne to drop by the camboose at night...

- Hey, listen... It's okay, I'm all right and...

Dorne put her hands on her hips:

- Oh no you _don't_, sir. This quite a serious issue, and no matter how much you deny it, I can see something is _wrong_! And if by any chance it has anything to do with... erm, that matter we discussed the last time...

Her heart skipped a beat. _Damn that..._ Sometimes her sergeant was way too clever for her own good; and it seemed she was adamant about getting answers. And assuming she drew the right conclusion...

_Ohhh, bantha's shiiit..._

- It's... _complicated_, but... fine, if you have time to spare, then follow me.

Commander headed for her cabin, medic treading hard at hand. Damn that... back luck sure does come in threes for good company - first Vik, then coffee, and now Dorne stuck like a leech...

- Well? - Dorne made an attack as soon as the cabin doors closed, and it seemed she'd take no prisoners.

Mirialan woman sat on the bed and massaged her temples:

- What do you want me to tell exactly?

The blond began ticking off on fingers:

- Firstly, I'd like to know how many nights you have been keeping awake. Secondly, I'd like to know _what_ causes you to do so. I would be as bold as to assume it was you who gave our demolition expert that black eye. And it's not like I want to know _anything_ more about it, but sir... if I may also assume that it has something to do with what you've told me before...

Brunette waved a tired hand to cut her off:

- Yeah, yeah, I get it that you ain't leaving me alone until you get the lowdown of me.

Medic took offence at that:

- But sir!..

Mirialan cut her off yet again and went on:

- Fine, I get it. You might as well give me some useful tip or the other. Truth be told, it's the first time that... I've got myself this deep in such a shithole, and that drives me _mad_.

Dorne sat down next to her all ears.

- I think that I haven't slept for... about five night already?.. But I'm not that sure myself. It's because I can't sleep, and _no_ - the medic was about to interfere again, - It's not that I have insomnia that I can't sleep. I just _don't want_ to fall asleep. As for the reason... damn... how should I put this...

She rubbed her face that seemed to set itself on fire with the mere thought of... her little problem. _Bantha's shiiit.._.

- I mean... erm...

But the blond cut in gently:

- Should I assume... that it has something to do with your _unusual reaction_ towards one particular member of our crew?

Brunette forced a nod, and blurted out without looking at the medic:

- You see... it really came out of nowhere, it's just... the next thing I know, something in my blasted brain goes click, and all of a sudden it registers the noise that comes out of his mouth... uhhh, I trust you _get_ the picture...

Medic nodded, deep in thought:

- Oh... so you mean...  
- What I mean is that _it's_ keeping me awake! But the very worst part of it all, is that the scumbag is_ fully aware_ of the situation! And not only that, he's using it as he pleases - because imagine what, it_ entertains_ him! I... I really am sick and tired of it _all_. Sometimes I feel like killing him...

Dorne's eyes widened and she shook her head in disbelief:

- Oh... is that really so... Erm...

She went all thoughtful and quiet. Mirialan stared into the wall, a foul feeling wringing her guts out, and thought just when it all got out of control so badly she had to bitch about to one of her subordinates. _Shame, what a howling shame..._

Her sergeant's voice cut through the inner monologue:

- Um, sir... While I don't know how relevant what I'm to say is in your case... There was somebody I knew once... A co-worker, so to say. He was drawn to this one girl, who happened to be... should I say _easy in her morals_, and didn't reciprocate his feelings in the least, although she was well aware of his weakness and used it often. In the end, he decided to gamble and turn the tables around by treating her the same way she did him. If I remember correctly, that's how he gained her heart... but that's _beside_ the point, - the medic added hastily, noting the way her commander jerked, - By no means I suggest you aim for the same goal, but... it must be the words that I remember him saying: "Two can play at this game". What I'm saying is... if the situation turns out to be unfavorable for you, how about you try to fight five with fire?

The brunette thought the idea over and shook her head:

- Oh, you sure know how to make the mind boggle... But you know... that's an interesting idea. I will... think about it. Thank you, Dorne.

The medic smiled:

- At your service, sir, - she stood up to take her leave, but at the very door she turned around and warned, - But it is unhealthy to keep awake all night!

Elara left and the door closed behind her, leaving commander to mull over what the blond medic had told her.

It's not that Mirialan wanted any... reciprocation... Force forbid that - the _very thought_ made her cringe. Even imagining the... Weequay... being _infatuated_... nope, that just _can't_ happen.

But to try and give him the taste of his own medicine... now that might be worth a shot. There was nothing to lose anyway - he had the game in his hands, so she could only gamble and come back at him somehow.

She smirked and fell on her bed. The game could promise to be... _interesting_.

***

- Anything else,_ si-ir_? - that Weequay was grinning again, looking down at her. Damn him and his bloody height!.. She pursed her lips, feeling how his voice made her body tense. Damn the bastard, playing dirty again, damn him... _Aaaarrrgh, to hell with it all!_

She took a second to close her eyes and compose herself. When she opened them, she met Weequay's unnerving stare with defiance:

- No, that'd be all. On a second thought, _though_... - she looked him up and down, as if contemplating some thing or the other, - ... hm, no, I guess not after all. Dismissed.

With the last comment she turned around and left, feeling a rather dumbfounded stare of one Weequay on her back.

_Ohhh, the sweet payback.._. Turns out it's true that two can play at this game_. You wanted to make war, I'll give you one hell of a war. And don't you even hope to win again, you asshole.._.


	11. Battle for the Gauntlet

**Battle for the Gauntlet**

- Thus is our path cleared, Captain. The seals withholding the inner core are removed. The operation can proceed.  
- Couldn't have done it without you, Yuun. Time to contact Vik, - she send a signal to Weequay's comlink, - Vik, come in. The seals are disabled, rendezvous at the core access door ASAP, over.

The comlink replied in Weequay's hoarse voice:

- That ugly bug got you through after all, huh? Heading for the door. Vik out.

She dashed for the door, Gand's footsteps echoing lightly behind.

The door slid open as they approached, to a sight of cursing Vik who was shooting back at a small group of Imperial soldiers; one of them was laying unconscious at Weequay's feet - been used as a meatshield no doubt.

In a quick succession Vik kicked the body away, hurled a grenade to follow, then aimed at his Commander.

- There you are, - he relaxed enough to lower his gun and spit on the floor, - Are we ready to finish this, or should I pop out for a drink?

Commander jerked a shoulder, mildly put off:

- Let's get in there and get to work, - glanced back at the Gand, - Sergeant Yuun, rendezvous with Sergeant Dorne. And stay sharp.

- Understood, Captain, - technician buzzed in response, - Yuun wishes you fortune in your coming task. Farewell.

Once Gand the doors closed behind the Gand, she heaved a silent sigh, the nervousness creeping back completely unwanted. Oh, damn. Now it's only her and Vik, all alone against the whole ship... _hope it doesn't blow up before we finish our mission_...

- Shall we go, boss? - Weequay put on a light smirk, shouldered his arm and took a better grab on his techblade, - I'll be right behind you, Trust me.

She all but hissed in rage. This damned... whether realizing this or not... but he dropped to _that_ tone again...

- See if you can keep up, - she replied, returning his smirk.

Assault cannon atilt, she dashed forward - the time was short. Weequay chuckled, his mouth stretching in a wide grin, and ran after his boss.

***  
Just as planned, with the alarms cut off the Imperials were caught completely unawares - which meant no strike forces to greet two lone members of the Havoc Squad. But those few soldiers they did meet put up a formidable resistance; several times already Mirialane had to take out the medical kit, both for herself _and_ her partner. Force bless the commando training that gave her some first-aid skills to go along with her combat ones.

Weequay was an impressive soldier with a shocking power, but his medical skills were null; he cursed through gritted teeth all the same while she treated his wounds.

- Easy, boss, - he hissed and jerked. She barely got a bandage fixed, so she hissed in reply and hit his good shoulder.

- I'm having none of it! When I say don't _move_, you bloody well don't _move;_ you're not a snotty kid, god damn it, so if you call yourself a soldier then_ bear with it_, Sergeant!

She rummaged the kit for some medicaments and stimulants, still cursing under her breath. Weequay seemed dumbstruck with her heated reaction, but he soon smirked - again - and glanced at her over his bandaged shoulder:

- Your words strike to my very _guts_, boss, so piercing it is. You should put on that tone more often, boss, I can listen to it _forever_...

He almost purred the last words - and no big wonder that it made her shudder. That foul hot wave washed over her at the sound of it; a small vial of stimulant almost dropped out of her shaking hands, and she hurried to mask it with more angry hissing:

- Arrgh, Vik, you idiot, I said don't move!

Weequay grinned, wiggling his eyebrows:

- I'm all ears, boss...

He dodged another blow and turned his back on her. Commander let out another silent curse - with the blasted Weequay, subordination and discipline were pretty much _damned_. She vented her rage by bandaging his wound extra tight, relishing the muffled angry protests coming from Vik, and shot him with the stimulant.

- What the hell was _that_?!

The shot made Weequay jerk, and her - raise her eyebrow in surprise:

- Is the big boy _afraid_ of needles? - she teased, giving another shot to herself.

Weequay sneered:

- Nah, it just was... unexpected. _What_ the hell was it anyway?

- It's to give your reflexes a boost. Don't worry, it's legal. Not that you can use it all the time, but it helps on occasions when you need extra fast reaction, - as he was about to ask something, she cut him off, - Now shut that big mouth of yours and get in gear. We've lost enough time as is; you get in front and I'll cover your back, now move!

His smirk took on a thoughtful bend as he looked her up and down, before charging forward:

- You got it, boss! - and she had to suppress a grin, following him closely

But still there was something... entrancing in the heat of a fight. When it's on pure reflexes and intuition alone that you turn around to blast off whoever was aiming at your partner's back, while hearing the agonizing screams of whatever idiot that was aiming at yours. Just this time she forgot how much she hated the Weequay; the deadly dance took a tight hold on her. In the frenzy of boosted reactions, the only means of communication they had were brief glances and body signals - and even that was enough.

All of a sudden, she came to realise what a breeze fighting alongside him was - only Arik was as easy to work with... and that was Arik Jorgan, the Cathar, who was there since the very start, and their almost ideal teamwork was a result of a long patient training.

Force knows why, but she and Vik all but waltzed to the first checkpoint.

***  
With great care, Vik installed the charge, then held his breath as he installed the fuse as well; the last piece to go was the fragile cylinder filled with reagent. She tightened the grip on her gun involuntary as she watched the Weequay work with such pinpoint accuracy.

When the cylinder was inside the mount, he got up with a satisfied grunt and turned to face her with a wide grin:

- One down boss! Baby hit it right in the spot!

Commander chuckled, finally relieved of the tension.

- Great, now leave your... heh, _baby_, and move on. It won't be long before systems restart, and if we're caught the mission is failed.

Vik shook his head and grabbed his blade:

- This is gonna be good. You lead the way, boss!

She winced - he dropped to that tone _again_. It left a bitter aftertaste, the way he, damn that scum, couldn't resist teasing and tormenting her _even on a mission_, the bloody bastard...

Commander checked the map and sighed. _Marvel at his talent to ruin the mood._

***  
One corridor after the other, one more radiation to install the next bomb - one more enemy attack defeated just to charge again in a mad race against the time - then turn around sharply and shoot to kill, then charge forward again...

And they're at the last stop - the reactor's core. The last bomb hissed silently as Vik installed it; she sighed in relief, ever so lightly relaxed - at least those bombs weren't a dead weight on their shoulders anymore. It was just as dangerous now, but knowing the bomb would go off some meters away and not _right on your bac_k - well, it was easier to take in.

- What do you say boss, should we wrap it up and go back to Corrusant, fame, money, respect and all that, hmmm?

She sneered in dark humour - the tension still had her in clutches, but the soon completion of their mission lifted her spirits all the same.

- Yeah, I wouldn't mind to have a quick one or two of correlian...

Vik lifted an eyebrow and gave her an appraising look - and it seemed to be in her favour:

- Oh, I respect that, boss. The first one is on me, hm?

She smirked._ Dream on, sucker._

Commander gave Vik a patronizing pat on a shoulder on her way back:

- Sorry, we aren't becoming drinking buddies. I'm a decent girl and all that...

She could _feel_ that Weequay search for words. _Ha, take _**_that_**_, Tanno Vik!_

When he finally caught up with her - he kept quiet; she could feel his anger and relished on the feeling.

A comlink signal burst through her thoughts.

- Captain, it's Jorgan. Big trouble up on the bridge. We got the data, but Imperial reinforcements just showed up out of nowhere. It's a lot more than we can hold off - are the bombs planted? Can we pull off?

- Mission complete. I want everyone back aboard the ship on the double!

- Roger that! Let's move out!

Some luck was that - the Imperials were back to their senses.

***  
Commander wasn't completely into the fight from that point on. Sure she was as quick and focused as she ran down the corridors, crushing the enemy resistance and demolishing droids - those blasted droids... But her mind was really already on the bridge, tearing at itself because her crew was in danger and she couldn't do a thing about it.

But it wasn't that far from the bridge...

When all of a sudden, that Weequay ahead came to a halt and turned around sharply. That made her recoil and lose her balance, only for Vik to catch her mid-fall.

- You...

He hushed her; words choking her, Mirialane felt the boiling rage... along with something else, and the stirring mix send the same treacherous shiver down her spine. Trying to loosen Weequay's iron grip on her - all in vain - she hissed:

- The hell are you doing? Let go!

Vik winced and retreated a few steps, his boss in tow. Leaning down to her ear, he hissed back:

- Boss, this is no joke. Someone's waiting for us around the corner. I don't know what, but I'm sure it's some big trouble, so if you don't keep the racket down it's gonna find us before we're ready...

She cursed silently. Horror came with the realization that little by little, this whisper just above her ear and the sensation of his arm around her waist make her body betray her sane mind. Just like that dream when..._ Arrrgh, rancorr devour you!.._ She bit her lip, tasted salt and felt a bottomless pit open up underneath when the pain did nothing to dissipate the heat...

- Damn it boss, get together!

It was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her. She licked blood off her lips, rage and irritation rising. _Vik, you bloody bastard, I hope sarlacc eats you to digest for the next hundred of years..._

- Great, - she heard him say, - Now if you've got any trump cards, deal. Otherwise we ain't gonna make it.

He let her go at last and cracked his knuckles. Commander only gave him a sharp nod - about the only thing she could give at the moment was a long fat string of curses, but there was no time to waste on _that_.

Good thing they were elite forces - they always come equipped with the best drugs.

***  
One stimulant, one injection, recharge your weapon and check the grenades... She caught the Weequay's stare and put on a grim smirk, taking a better grip on her weapon:

- Let's move out.

Weequay returned the smirk and charged. Doors slid open, and a heavy-armoured figure turned towards the noise, aiming his gun at them. She spit out of anger and hurled a cryogrenade at the man, giving Vik a chance to get closer, and mashed the trigger madly, sending blast after blast. _Eat plasma and die, you son of a..._

The heat of the fight took over her again, making her less of a living being and more of a machine. She took no notice neither of burnt holes in her armour nor of her injuries. There was only one thing to focus on - to take the enemy down, and there was no retreat. Grenade after grenade thrown, another plasma blast and a quick cover to shot yourself with regen injection when the pain was too much - then back under fire it is again, to buy your partner a few seconds... and the enemy was down.

She didn't even notice the exact moment when he collapsed - she only came to her senses when the last shots from her gun hit thin air. She breathed out and wiped the sweat off her face - then bent down to check the corpse just in case. Nametag read "Gunnery Sergeant Shorzen" - we'll, it was your bad day, pal...

Mirialane and Weequay glanced at each other and headed for the exit.

***  
The bridge met them with dead silence. The fight was long since over, and if the number of bodies was any indication - it was a hot one. All of her crew stood as one by the doorway, and something was off - the foreboding tugged at her insides and she hurried to them.

Oh no.

Oh no no _no, not Jorgan!.._

Commander watched the prone figure the Cathrar in quiet shock.

- Captain! It is a great relief to see you well in spite of the extensive fighting, - the combat droid was first to greet her, - I'm afraid that Jorgan sustained heavy injuries during our retreat from the bridge. Despite my efforts to absorb the enemy fire, he refused to give up his portion of the fight - a perfect example of Republic heroism!

Clubbing the droid with a gun to make it shut up probably won't be a good idea, now would it...

- Full situation report, - commander cut in sharply, - What's Jorgan status?

Luckily, Dorne caught on and got to the point as soon as she finished examining the Cathar:

- I've stabilized him for now, sir. But the wounds would have certainly been fatal had Forex not gotten him to me so quickly. Jorgan is lucky to be alive.

Commander felt the chilling horror melt away a little. _He's alive... he's going to be alright..._

- Stay with him and keep me updated on his status, - her voice still sounded icy.

- Of course, Captain, - Dorne seemed to understand what was going on behind Mirialane's eyes.

- Could we talk about this later? - Vik cut in with an angered grumble, - I need to set those charges off, and we shouldn't be sitting in the hangar bay when I do.

His tone threw her off somewhat, but Commander nodded:

- Let's get moving. Double time it!

- Yuun will see that the ship is prepared for launch, - the technician buzzed, - Once we are clear of the Gauntlet, we can contact Admiral Helik with a situation report.

This was agreed on and the squad fell back smartly. Seconds ticking away seemed to crawl all over her skin like a bad itch, and she just wanted to be as far from the Gauntlet as possible.

Once Jorgan was safely secured in the medical bay and Dorne was in the second pilot seat - their ship was well out of the hangar of the Imperial cruiser.

***  
- Attack group, this is Havoc. Objection complete. All ships, evacuate to minimum safe distance!

Commander put the comlink away to help Dorne drive the ship away from the Gauntlet. A tense silence hung in the air of the main deck, time running out; even Weequay was silent in anticipation of a chance to blast off his "babies".

Vik smirked, glancing over her shoulder - he was monitoring the charges via terminal, just waiting for the order.

She knew that smirk was on his face, she could tell even without looking. It's like she had a sensor or something... a Vik-sensor... Aaargh, now's not the time to think about it! There's barely enough time to steer their ship clear of the Gauntlet, they only need a little more to get out of the burst radius... just a little more... _please_...

Speakers finally came to life:

- We copy, Havoc. All ships are clear. Proceed with the detonation.

- Boom, - Weequay sang from behind her.

She gasped with a violent shiver; for a brief second, the tense tangible silence of the cockpit was lost, and she was all alone with the hot surge running inside her...

And then the giant of the Imperial cruiser burst open, torn apart by explosions, all in the dead silence of space. Mirialane closed her eyes, supressing the anger at her own body, that seemed to vibrate like a tightly stretched string. The impact wave finally caught up with their ship, shaking it, and it covered up for her shaking hands.

- Target destroyed. Repeat, the Gauntlet has been destroyed! - Admiral's voice came through, - All ships, disengage and proceed to rendezvous four-seven for refueling. Havoc, return to General Garza for...

Commander let go of the wheel and leaned back in her chair, staring into the black void of cosmos beyond the window. Admiral went on and on, but she was only half-listening; her senses were more or less monopolised by one Weequay standing a couple of feet behind.

She knew, oh how she knew he was smirking again - with that one bloody smirk, aimed straight at her..._ Damn you Vik to hell, you blasted Weequay, you're such a_**_ bastard_**_ after all..._


	12. This is War

**This is War**

It was cool and quiet in cargo hold of the Havoc Squad ship - as per the usual, really; metal crates full of ammo glinted in the gloom, ship plating squeaked faintly - all in all, it was peaceful and... comfortable, even, despite the metal and the explosives everywhere.

It made her think she began to understand their demolitions expert - this was a kind of a quiet place. Filled up with explosives none the less.

She sighed and settled back. A low voice chuckled over her ear, and a pair of strong arms circled around her waist, pressing her back against the warm chest. She closed her eyes, with a dim shame realizing that her cheeks were burning again - as per the usual.

_Damn the blasted Weequay, the bastard knows what he's doing, damn him..._

- So tell me Vik, why are you... like this? - she asked with a sigh, trailing one finger along the arm around her.

Another chuckle, and a low gruff voice that sent those treacherous shivers, the almost painful sharp jab of pleasure inside her chest, said:

- What do you mean by "_this_", ba... boss?

She winced at the word swap, but didn't say anything on it.

- Why are you this _bloody douchebag scum_ I want to murder with extreme delight at times? - she drawled, staring at the ceiling, while the other's heart calmly measured its beats.

Yet another chuckle. She trembled - that blasted tense, aching tingle was there all right...

- Well... that's exactly why I'm _here_ and _now_, boss.

She snorted:

- Can't argue with _that_.

- Damn right, boss.

She smiled at the irony. Her cheeks felt warm, despite the cool air of cargo; the cold of the metal crate made her fingers freeze.

But her hear skipped one beat for every time he called her "boss". The bloody Weequay somehow managed to convey every undertone of the word "_baby_"! _Bloody hell, I wish a sarlacc would eat your guts, you slimy scumbag of a smartass Weequay_!

With a quiet sigh she wiggled her fingers under the iron grip that circled around her waist, glad to feel them warm up against the rough, hot Weequay skin. The sight turned into a gasp when his huge hand caught her arm.

- Why, boss, are you freezing? - the smooth whisper almost burned her skin. She gasped for more air, the hot wave washing away every coherent thought, - Hmmm, I think I know _just the trick_...

It was nothing short of a _goddamn purr._..

She could barely let out a weak squeak of protest as a pair of strong hands lifted and sat her on his laps. _Quite warm laps, actually.._.

_Uhhh, the hell I have to feel this bloody shame and this bloody tingle and this bloody pleasure and... I'm not a masochist... last time I checked I wasn't... Damn the bastard, damn him..._

She shifted her weight for a more comfortable position; Vik let out a short grumble and tightened his grip on her, as a warning that a slightest provocation... however unintentional... won't be the best of ideas. _Oh..._

- Vi-ik... you bloody shameless bastard...

Thoughts were trickling out of her head, as did willpower. She felt defenseless, even more so when Vik chuckled into her ear:

- Ohhh, yeah, I _know_. I'm a repulsive, smug and dirty bastard that doesn't give a fuck about morals, discipline, subordination and all that shit... And trust me, I'm damn well _enjoying_ it!

- You bloody opportunistic scum... - she breathed out, shivering violently against the hot breath on her neck.

That Weequay almost crooned, voice dripping with satisfaction:

- Oh yeas I _am_... admit it, _si-ir_, this is exactly the way you like me, hmm?

She'd tell him. She'd certainly prove him wrong, then order him to unhand her, then send him on some extra duty, at least to keep some semblance of control over the matter.

But the last scraps of coherent thought vanished as soon as his hot lips pressed against her neck, pouring liquid fire over her skin.

She was drowning and there wasn't enough air. Her eyes closed in defeat, shameful and bitter as it was, but also _oh so sweet_... Hot waves seemed to embrace her body; the world was rapidly fading to one small cargo hold, to shallow breath and the rush of blood, to the feeling of his lips burning her neck and the tight grip of his arms around her waist, arms that slipped under her shirt... She lost whatever breath she had left then, once she felt his rough hands slid across her skin - it was pure electricity, the kind that made your body jerk and dance under the surge of whatever-bloody-volts... It felt sweet, hot, shameful, and _it was so._..

_**AAAARGHHH!.**_.

She woke up with a start, feeling the... remnants of the dream... wash over her... Her heart was racing to a Galactic record no less, and her cheeks were burning - hell, it seemed that the heating system collapsed and made her private cabin a sauna!..

Commander rolled over and buried her face in the pillow with a weak groan. _Again.._. again with those... those dreams of hers, those bloody dreams that make her this bloody tense and tingling, and put these bloody images into her head, and give her these almost too real sensations of being touched... _oh nonono, she won't be bloody thinking about that - and there's too much use of "bloody" - hmmm, having Vik all beaten up and bloody would be a nice sight, at least it would wipe out that smug smirk that... nooo, no more Vik thoughts!.._

The metal surface of the headboard did little to cool her burning forehead. She wished she could dream about beating the living daylights out of Vik - now that would've been an awesome dream, ecstatic even!.. But_ nooo_, things would always turn out for the worse...

Damn... it'd be easier had she been a male - you just take a leave, then you look for a red lamp district, and then you're good to go back on duty! It was not as easy in her case - the mere thought of... a similar way to solve the problem... it just made her cringe with _disgust_. No way in hell she's stooping _that_ low.

But there had to be _a way t_o get rid of this hormonal intoxication!..

Probably the worst thing was the realization that the real Vik had nothing in common with the wishy-washy romantic nonsense her mind had conjured up; at best the slimy bastard would just come up and take..._ ughhh, wrong train of thoughts here Major!._.

She groaned again and hid her flaming face in her hands.

It seemed that the longer this frustration went on, the more her brains lost every logical reason and began overlooking his flaws. But he remained the same Weequay ugly like her own life itself, he still was his repulsive and amoral self, living by mercenary rules; while she was by far the only authority he bothered to comply to, and that position was already shaky as is, even without Vik knowing about... _her little weakness_. And not only knowing, but exploiting it as well - merely because... he found that amusing, or satisfying, or whatever reason he had in that sick mind of his!..

The dream version of the bastard was right, and she had a suspicion the real Vik would've shared his opinion. As much as she was aggravated and plainly pissed by the way he was, she was drawn to him for the very same reasons.

She smiled bitterly at the ceiling. Damn, it's true that opposites attract. Only that in her case it's one-sided; the fact made her quite literally sick. He was ugly inside and out, a bloody mercenary because let's be honest, Vik was never a soldier to begin with - he was always a mercenary with a Republic Army emblem on his armour. Nothing _more_.

And this was the very mercenary that hell knows why made her lose her _head_!..

- Well... anyway, let him think he won for now. I've lost that battle aright, fine, but I'm winning the war. I swear, you damn Weequay, you'd regret the very moment you came up with the idea to toy with me...

The ceiling above her got a nasty smirk.

_Ohhh, yeah._ Who knows, she really might fight fire with fire after all... haha, right, as if she would. But there'd be no surrender; he might be a mercenary, but she was a soldier! She's a commando of the elite forces of the Republic. She could defeat her fear - she could defeat her last commander...

- Sit tight, Tanno Vik, - she whispered to the dark of the room, - You wanted war, I'm giving you a hell of a war. There'd be no prisoners taken, so I'll be fighting till the last drop of blood, either yours or mine. You may have all the trump cards, but justice is on my side... So suck it, bastard, I've come alive out of a worse shithole you can imagine! You'll pay, you fucking Weequay...

Her rant trailed off to a mumble; finally she snuggled her pillow with a content smile and began dozing off.

After all, even when you're eaten, you still have at least _two_ ways out.


	13. Jaxo Heart-to-Heart

**Jaxo Heart-to-Heart**

Sometimes all you can do is find some company to relax with. Forget your worries, shelve your troubles, and with each glass downed distance yourself from them further.

Sure they would come around right back. But if she could get rid of them at least for a while, then Commander was all for it.

Jaxo, a SIS agent she met a couple of times during missions, called her over for a small "get-together" as she put it. She'd been calling her several times already, but Commander couldn't find time. But with this... local hell that broke loose in her life, she finally decided to take Jaxo up on her offer.

Sometimes drinking with people you know next to nothing about - and who knows next to nothing about you and your problems - is all you need really.

And here she was on Corusant looking for that SIS agent apartments on the middle levels of the planet, Havoc Squad safely on the leave. A small company was already there by the time she arrived - Jaxo herself, a Navy sergeant and a Special Forces lieutenant.

Which made them an all-girls unit. The unit that all but assaulted several bars, drinking fighter pilots twice their sizes under the table and into shame. If it wasn't for the advantages of her race and the bloody implants - she'd be joining the losing side, just like that one cute freckled guy that snoozed away happily in the drunken daze. The alcohol only made Commander feel lighter - the bottle, however, was only half-empty...

Mirialane saluted with her glass to her companions and took a small sip. Whiskey burned her throat a bit, the feeling soon replaced by warmth that had long since occupied her brain, making the thinking a slow and lazy process.

Her gaze wandered about the canteena, analyzing it only out of habit. There was a pilot engrossed in some twi'lekk girl holoproection, a couple of seemingly close drinking buddies, a lone soldier with an empty glass, some gamblers... Finally her gaze came across a scene that took place two or three tables away from their company - she saw some army guy (you can't mistake an army guy for no one else), who whispered something to a girl he was embracing with one arm that gradually crept down from the girl's waist.

The girl was blushing, giggling and pushing him away all at once, but didn't seem to mind overall. The soldier smirked - it made Commander's heart hurt a little - then pulled the girl closer for a quite possessive grope, and whispered something else into the girl's ear. Judging by the fine shade of red her cheeks turned - something very... _frivolous_, as it were.

Commander winced - the couple made her remember her own... little Weequay problem... the very thought about it made her heart skip several beats... _Damn the bastard!_ She downed her drink in one go and poured herself another one; the couple went past the base one - the guy did anyway, but the girl didn't seem to mind _at all_.

She stared into the void of her glass. The void was probably too scared to stare back.

_Blast it..._

- Hey, Major, what's up with the long face?

She didn't notice when Jaxo took a sit next to hers; SIS agent comfortably sipped on her drink and winked:

- Why, do you envy that girl?

Mirialane snapped:

- As if there's anything to be envious about! Some crappy one night stand, big deal.

Jaxo shook her head slowly, swinging her glass:

- Eh, to each his own, Major. In our line of job, even some crappy one night stand might be too much, - her face clouded over, - It doesn't take much to be happy. Damn, if there's a guy who knows anything about treating a girl right, buying her a drink, being good in bed, that kind of thing... what's to complain about? Leave love for the civilians. They've got enough time to spare.

Jaxo heaved a sight; Mirialane winced again and took another swing:

- Yeah, right. There's no meaning if it's only a passing fancy...

- Meaning? You want meaning? - Jaxo snorted, - There's no meaning you an find. You know... I've got this comrade in arms once. And what a bastard he was! A rare specimen of a fine jerkass, ugly as a holocaust, and a womanizer to boot. The bastard just knew the right things to do, what to say, where to touch and all the shit, - she took a sip, - You can guess girl were falling head over heels for him into tidy neat piles. The worst thing was that he had this voice... hell, words won't do it any justice. You just don't describe that kind of voice...

- ... you just fucking _hear_ it once, - Major echoed darkly, fingering the table. It didn't take troubles to catch up with her after all; she felt empty, depressed and poured out whatever came to her mind.

- Oh, I see you're well informed, - Jaxo gave her a sly side-glance, but decided against asking, - Yeah, what she said. He had a fucking sexy voice that made a girl of any race jump out of her pants and into his bed. Me, well, he just drove me up the wall. Everything about him made me furious - his looks, his voice, his personality, his attitude - I'm not the most responsive soldier around, but even _I_ know a thing or two about duties. However, our commander was a woman, so you can guess he was staying. Also... the bastard was putting moves on me; probably because I was the only sane girl who didn't fell for him. He'd been telling me tall tales about my unparallel beauty and all that crap... With that fucking sexy voice he had, yeah... Driving me up the fucking wall... That's about all that went between us - he hit on me once, I hit him in the face twice, that kind of thing. And he still stalked me, trying to seduce, the persistent bastard that he was...

Mirialane snorted, somewhat amused, and once the pause drew out for too long, asked Jaxo:

- And so? Did he succeed on his mission?

SIS agent took a sip and frowned:

- And so, he was killed on a mission. A literal, special intruder mission in fact. When his cover was blown, he hijacked a shuttle and tried to escape, but failed. Reinforcements also failed to reach him in time. But he didn't failed his soldier duty, surprisingly, and left behind a holorecord and an infochip with an invaluable data. He told every piece of intel he managed to get like a good agent, but in the very end of the record - he was a smug bastard after all - left a personal message for me, something along the lines of "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met in my whole life" and blahblahblah... I don't remember the exact words. It was bullshit anyway. The funny thing is, that everyone assumed we had an affair; some rumors that reached me claimed he wanted to marry me, take me away, that our love was legend material, all passionate and tragic... Like I said, bullshit.

Jaxo's mouth took on a sour crook:

- But you know, Major. There are times... there are those rare times when I sit down and think - what if we really did have an affair? Maybe... maybe I'd at least have some memory to cherish, instead of regrets, that kinda thing... Who knows, maybe it would've been worth it?

Mirilane stared at the bottle, glinting under the low lights of the canteena.

Silently, Sergeant filled up everyone's glasses and went on bitterly:

- There are times when I think - isn't this enough? To have a guy who can treat not bad at least, who has some respect to spare, knows when to buy you a drink, good in bed and has a voice that melts your brain? I don't even care about the looks... It's good as a one night stand, or even two night stand... And then you have this guy's comlink frequency, and the next time you fly by the planet you send him a signal, and some couple of ours later you're making out at his place like crazy, with no care in the world whatsoever, and just... feeling happy. Like I said, to each his own.

Jaxo heaved a sigh:

- Love... it's and arguable thing really. What you need is a shoulder you can always lean on. Sometimes such shoulders are on guys who give no promises.

- Yeah, sure thing, - Major drew out grimly, propping her head with one arm, - Persistent bastards... They try hard to win, but once they win - game over, they're off to set another record...

Jaxo mimicked her pose and smiled:

- Maybe they will leave. Then again, maybe they would stay. You never know until you try. Anyway, look at her, - she pointed at the couple Major was eyeing earlier, - She's happy. She's wanted, she's fought for... Even if he leaves tomorrow and flies to the other side of the galaxy with no chances of seeing him again, right here and now she's happy. And that's enough for her. As for the military... heh, the Great Force itself has it that we have to live like it's our last day, 'cause the hell we know what tomorrow will bring?

Jaxo downed the last drops of her drink, winced and said sourly:

- Yeah, you just hear me talk on and on. Not even a Jedi can score a point against me when I'm drunk. I can't say for sure of course, but my girls once told me that I actually managed to outargue one, hell if I know what a Jedi was doing in a canteena... Anyway, I think he left like four hours later, probably even drunk; and I don't know how much my girls were lying when they told me I was telling that dumbstruck robed guy about his Great Force influencing the strength of Ruby Blil, depending on the time of the year, the season, the date and the planet position... but yeah, I recall saying some shit like that...

Jaxo snickered, and Major couldn't held back a smile either. She imagined one miserable Jedi and Jaxo clinging to him and trying to get him drunk... Life's full of all kinds of weird.

- So don't feel down, Major, - agent slapped her on a shoulder amiably, while staggering slightly, - If you want it you do it, if you don't want it you don't do it! Just don't doubt yourself and that's all. We just... have aren't no time to spare on doubt and... all that stuff...

Agent raised a pointer finger up as of to prove a point; Mirialane snorted:

- You suggest what, to kick a guy in the kidneys, then hit him on the head and throw him on a bed while he's still unconscious?

Jaxo smirked and wiggled her eyebrows:

- If _that's_ your thing, why not? Then again, you can wait while he's ready to make a move and juuust guide him real gentle without him knowing. And theeen... You can have even the most self-confident jerk wrapped neatly around your finger. Heh, - she sighed, - Had I been smarter, I probably would've let him "seduce" me, and then I'd... But anyway...

Jaxo stood up, slightly staggering:

- Ain't no catching the missed shuttle. Okay, girls, time to move out while we still can. I can that our brave pilot is all good already. Next thing you know, she'd be throwing herself at the closest person, and you know what Major, I think she doesn't mind who to hit on. Boys, girls, Wookies... no, really, I think she might hit on one...


End file.
